


Half Heaven

by cobaltdynasty



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, IgNoct, Ignis lives, IgnisNoctis, Inspired by Art, M/M, Noctis dies, Priest/Demon AU, ffxv alternate universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-05 18:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltdynasty/pseuds/cobaltdynasty
Summary: “I want to go back.”A look of pity crossed the gatekeeper’s face for a brief second, he did not want to sacrifice another good soul, for he knew only a few made it back safely and sane. Only a few are allowed a second chance to knock on that gate again. Only a few made it through the second judgment.“Noctis Lucis Caelum, know that in the path you choose to walk in, you will not be who you are, it will be a life void of life itself, your time will revolve around death, and death will give you life. Do you wish to stay?”“.... I.. I choose to stay.”





	1. I choose to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by an Ignoct Priest/Demon AU artwork by Mage - links below!
> 
> And how the images wont leave my head. So, here it is, my first AU where Ignis lives as a priest and Noctis dies, returning to the living realm as an angel of death. 
> 
> Major thanks to JuAtsumi for helping me beta, with the silly random mistakes I write. 
> 
> Hopefully someone enjoys it! FFXV and its characters do not belong to me. Always, comments and kudos are welcome, please be kind xD

  
\-----

At the last possible moment, he stopped outside the gate. Not one soul has walked through the massive carved door without their judgment passed.

He looked back at the immense landscape stretching before him, as far as the eye can see, charcoal sand beneath his feet and pale grey sky. He had been walking endlessly together with many strangers who seemed just as lost.  
  
_I am dead, am I?_  
  
He didn’t think his final journey would be like this. It was eerily quiet, not even the sound of footsteps were heard, perhaps save for the occasional wailing from a distance, or grunts from what seemed to come from the people around him. They were all walking to the same direction of an unknown destination. It was only then he realized his feet were moving on their own. His attempts at getting closer to those around him failed miserably. As he faced his body towards a different direction, the landscape shifted accordingly with him at its center, and everyone else was back where they were. Not farther, not closer.

_Where am I going?_

  
His body felt light, despite having walked continuously, his legs never gave way to fatigue.

He didn’t remember ever feeling this way. For all he knew, it had always been hard for him to move in the past ten years. It felt like he was under an intoxicating spell of drowsiness strangling him deeper into his death bed. He remembered hearing his own muffled breathing from time to time, occasional instrumental beeping mirroring his own steady but very-slow heartbeat, distant murmur of people around him saying he won’t make it, and his own body refusing to respond no matter how much he wanted to. He was just a void.

Yet, the more he tried to recall, the more he found himself lost. Everything existed as fragments, too vague for him to recognize as if they were all nothing but a metaphysical puzzle to him. The truth is his life was full of misery and he was only steps away from being free from it all.

Then, he remembered a certain voice calling him to wake up, begging him not to leave.

He thought something really bad must have happened that day, proof of the heartbreaking cry he heard back then. He had never heard someone calling his name in such a painful way.  
  
_Name? What is my name?_  
  
  
  
Then, it was finally his turn.  
  
Intimidating pillars of golden black marble stood side by side, enough to make mere humans shrink at their sight.  
  
To think that everyone was given the same chance to knock on heaven’s gate, everyone who has ever existed, lived, suffered and endured; at this moment all life is equal in the face of death.  
  
The gatekeeper stood still, sapphire-golden blades emerging from the back of his body like wings of a celestial bird. Dozens of crystalline blades circled around him, calmly emanating powerful brooding air, ready to strike should any soul dare to run or revolt against their impending fate on their last stop before heaven.  
  
Judgment was passed.  
  
The gatekeeper freed him of his sins, and he was allowed to take that final step to eternal peace, yet he stood there reluctant.  
  
“I want to go back.”  
  
The gate opened before him, gusts of wind carrying pearly dusts in his way, but he stood there, eyes still fixated at his own feet.  
  
“I want to go back, please.”  
  
A look of pity crossed the gatekeeper’s face for a brief second, he did not want to sacrifice another good soul.  
  
At least not today. At least not for this gentle being who stood before him only steps away from the peace he deserved.  
  
He did not want to send this soul back to suffer in the land of the living, for he knew only a few made it back safely and sane. Only a few are allowed a second chance to knock on that gate again. Only a few made it through the second judgment.  
  
  
“For what reason do you refuse your claim to be free from despair?” The gatekeeper waited for a valid answer.  
  
He stood again in silence for a while, not sure of his own thoughts, not sure of a way to put them into words, not entirely sure of the reason behind his plea either.

“There’s something I gotta do, please let me go back. I can’t leave yet.”  
  
The gatekeeper sighed ever slightly. The choice was his to make and it was granted before him, with only one condition.  
  
“Noctis Lucis Caelum, know that in the path you choose to walk in, you will not be who you are, it will be a life void of life itself, your time will revolve around death, and death will give you life. Do you wish to stay?”  
  
He hesitated for a moment, pondering the meaning behind those words, his voice trembling, but his determination stayed solid.  
  
“But.. I’ll get to see him, right? I wasn’t there when he needed me the most. The least I could do is be there for him even for a while. I.. I just wanted him to know how I feel..” He was not sure of his own words, but he felt it in his heart. Something was holding him back, someone important, someone very dear to him, but he could not remember no matter how much he tried, like a dream soon forgotten the moment he woke up.  
  
“Free yourself of these worldly attachments. Know that your life will no longer be yours. Your memory will serve you no more. You will only take what is demanded, and you will grant none. Do you still wish to stay, Noctis?”

“…. I.. I choose to stay.” Finally looking up to the gatekeeper from where he stood.

“Very well. Noctis Lucis Caelum, now servant of heaven and hell. You shall have your wish.”  


The ground beneath him gave way, the blackness of it swallowing him like a quicksand. In an instant, he felt pain. A sensation all too familiar to him. His weak lungs desperately grasping for air as the sand clawed all around him like death all over again.

\-----

The original artwork that inspired this fic, by Mage, [Ignoct Priest/Demon AU](https://twitter.com/mgmg_ff/status/1057256154349297664) Please visit her page =D and thank you, Mage.


	2. An angel taking flight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present time, where Noctis roams the world, waiting for his calling. He takes away soul after souls, until one night a mistake reopens a door to a past he didn't know existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am seriously bad at summary. Also, Noctis here is not depicted as a grim reaper the way it is usually portrayed in popular culture, with black cloak and a scythe. I believe his beauty should not be obscured by anything, especially not by a cloak over his head! =p Again, major thanks to JuAtsumi for beta! Words on headstones referring to Robert Ingersoll's quote. Kindly let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy it!

\---

Not many people attended his funeral.

Those who did, whispered the same tragic story, of a sickly orphaned boy who came to inherit a vast amount of wealth from his deceased father, and how his days ended at the mercy of the gods above.

The house always felt too big and lonely for the little boy he was. In a large mansion on the outskirts of the city, he had no one he could call friend. His caretaker, Monica, would come and visit every day, making sure he was properly fed and cleaned. He hadn’t been able to walk when he lost his mother. His father loved him very much, but much of his time was always spent at work.

As a child, he would sit by the window looking up to the sun pouring its gentle rays onto the vast courtyard that extends to a family cemetery. A long line of family members that had gone before him and his fathers before him.

He used to love the sun, but he felt weak, enclosed in the four walls of his room he called home.

His first attack was on the age of five. He was spending a blissful day with his father and it was suddenly hard for him to breath. His father managed to rush him to a nearby hospital. Since then, hospital was his second home.

Having known of his illness at a very young age, his father wanted to make sure he lived a life free of burden. The medical cost of keeping him healthy alone required a lot of financial attention, but seeing him smile, growing up and making friends just like any other kids was all his father ever wished for. Would he live to fifteen, his father thought. Perhaps, twenty? Thirty? His father tried to buy time for his beloved son, having worked day and night endlessly, when all the boy ever wanted was to have his father read him his favorite book while he tucked himself to sleep on a warm bed.

His father didn’t come home that night.

The little boy came rushing down the stairs when he heard the doorbell rang. He carried in his arms a picture book about a long lost prince from a faraway kingdom who followed the star signs to fight for his homeland. But, what greeted him in the hallway of his own house were news of his father’s death.

The boy did not cry on his father’s funeral. Of the few that gathered were associates of his late father, hungry vultures ready to tear him apart for what value he had of his father’s inheritance. His gaze laid fixed on his father’s coffin as it was lowered further, the flower on the casket disappearing into the ground from his sight. He kept holding on to the book his father had promised to read to him that night.

Monica took his hand, wondering if the boy knew what it meant to be standing amongst many gravestones, wondering if the boy understood the finality of death. She could not tell. This was not an expression a five-year-old boy should have on his face. His blue eyes looked empty, his cheeks pale like a porcelain doll devoid of life, and he would not say a word.

But, he was a fighter. As much as he was failing, the least thing he wanted was to become anyone’s burden. The boy attended his classes, pretending to be as normal as everyone else, even graduated as a top student despite his long list of absences in exchange for his regular trips to the hospital.

He _tried_ to make friends. Gods knew, it was hard to keep up with his fragile health.

His circle of friends was small, and with them he enjoyed little things like video games at home, accompanied by a lively blond boy he grew close to during their high school days. Monica found comfort greeted by laughter in the house during her visit. She did not do that as often anymore, the boy was fifteen and he has already grown so much. His father would love to see that smile on him forever.

Some days, the boy would sneak out from under Monica’s watchful eyes to go fishing with another friend. He is a son of his father’s friend, who had passed long before his father did. They both shared their love of nature, having spent hours admiring the wild. Sadly it was hard for the sickly young boy. He loved the sea, he loved the smell of salt in the air, the gentle breeze swaying in his hair, but he was always careful, having to limit himself from the temporary indulgence.

He loved the sun.

He thought he would give anything to stay out of his confines, alas, he now lays in the field with the ground as his roof where the sun can no longer reach. It was as if the sky joined in a mocking show of mourning. The newly erected gravestone bearing his name bathed in the rain.

_In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing._

Rest In Peace

.N O C T I S L U C I S C A E L U M.

Not many people mourned for him, apart from his childhood friends, fewer associates of his late father came.

Monica wept, for the dear person who was like a son to her. She had been in service of the Caelum family for more than 30 years, and now that family is gone with its last surviving member buried in front of her.

And there was Ignis. The boy who moved in next door shortly before his father’s passing. Ignis also lost his parents when he was young, having been sent to live with his uncle, Ignis shared many similarities with Noctis. Being only two years apart in age, they bonded quickly, finding comfort in friendship inside their lonely worlds.

Some say, Ignis was the source of his smile. Since that day, Noctis would put an extra effort in his studies, occasionally ate the small portion of veggies he _oh-gods_ so hated, followed Ignis’ routine of reading whatever books he had on hand, becoming the adorable boy he already was.

In truth, the reverse holds true. Noctis was the reason behind Ignis’ happiness.

That happiness is long gone now. He traced his fingers alongside Noctis’ gravestone. His eyes hidden under a dark pair of glasses, no one was able to tell whether or not he was crying silently in the rain. He stood there, motionless in the open, a lone person in the Caelum cemetery yard, long after everyone else has gone, as if waiting for his dear friend to return.

Around him, crows gathered on birch trees, cawing noisily at the scent of death before flying into the night, carrying with them a newly departed soul.

\---

The clock strikes midnight, his eyes takes in the shape of the city. Like a high-flying bird, he watches everything calmly from where he stands, high above it all. The city looks alive, he enjoys watching a city of pale grey skyscrapers very lacking in life, transforming to a living breathing entity by night. Lights flicker in colors of yellow and red in cascading arrangement of rectangular order, stretching in the distance.

He listens.

An overworked staff working at his office trying to make his deadline, a dog barking intensely at random passer-by, a teenage boy nervously confessing to his childhood crush, a mother and daughter laughing as they shared warm stuffed-bun they bought at a mini-mart.

It took him a while to adapt to his newly restored senses. Now he can just tune in to a particular conversation and he knows he is in the right place, perhaps not yet in the right time.

Everyone is either making their way home to their families, or perhaps running away from them. And one of them isn’t going to meet their loved ones anymore tonight.

He felt sad at the thought. Despite his numerous successful attempts, Noctis never likes what he does.

No one can explain how the world runs in a cycle of life and death, but he likes to think he contributed in maintaining this delicate balance. It keeps him slightly at peace. And, it was not like he had a choice. This is nothing but payment for the extra time he requested at the time of his death to stay in this world. He would collect deceased souls, guide them to the realm of judgment, making sure each and every one of them is delivered to the hands of the gatekeeper.

He has lost count. Hours, days, weeks, months, has it been years? Every moment spent in this world drains his mind, proof that it is a place he no longer belongs.

He had even forgotten how he looked like, his hair lengthier than how it used to be, brushing softly against his sunken cheeks. Brows more prominent, but his eyes stays the same. The gentle kindness they always carry with them like a calm, deep blue sea.

Not that it matters to him, Noctis would look at his own reflections and sees him as he is now, not the young boy who smiled like he has never known pain.

Why did he return to this place anyway? He doesn’t know.

To him, he is just a nocturnal bird, drinking in this worldly river of souls when it is demanded of him. And when it happens, for a moment, Noctis is not himself. He hates every minute of it, as if his control is slipping out of his hands like water he can’t contain.

Sometimes it can be hours, days, or weeks before anything is demanded. But, it doesn’t matter. He would always answer, and he would always deliver.

In his mind, he hopes things will get easier, remembering his first calling and how broken he was for weeks after. He thought he would give up staying, he could not look into the eyes of an innocent girl, fear and dread reflected in her eyes, as if a monster had come to hunt her down. A look at her face would tell just how much she was willing to bargain for her life.

What would she bargain for, he thought.

_Did I bargain for anything back then?_

It always feels like a distant dream whenever he tried to recollect memories of his life. He remembers seeing a face in the middle of chaos in that room. It was all blurred in his head.

Was it right to take away someone’s life for the sake of his own selfishness?

 _No_.

He thought. It was demanded of him. He never wish them any harm.

_But, why does it have to be me? If not because of me, would they have lived longer?_

_Because you chose to be here._

_Does that make me a monster?_

_It is the same thing right? I took their lives, just so I could stay here?_

He loses himself in thoughts again. It happens every single time, a period of self-doubt and mourning for a stranger he has never met. He would cry for this person. It has always been the way of things.

Every time he took a soul, Noctis would read their life like an open book, their memory is taken away from them, stored in the recess of his mind. He keeps reliving them from time to time. Even though it pains him, Noctis thinks it is the only way to keep a part of them alive, knowing how someone would weep for them deeply.

He wonders about the few others who chose to live the way he does. Wherever they are right now, do they also mourn for the life they took? Do they also linger around those who’re left behind, drowned in guilt and regret, wishing they could return their losses.

_What happens to those people he left behind?_

_Did someone weep for me?_

_Did anyone love me?_

_Who was I?_

Noctis thought about the sort of person he was when he was alive. Was he good? Was he bad?

Was it an angel who came for his life for the sins? Was it a demon who took his final breath as mercy for his pain?

He knows he ought to snap out of his useless thoughts. But, it never stops him from contemplating.

It doesn’t matter now.

The time is near. It is calling him.

The glow of red in his eyes becoming more subtle. His expression deadly. He looks up to the dark starless sky and breathes in the cold air. Noctis closes his eyes, he is now a spirit of decadence. Dormant buildings around him reflect shadows of the most glorious pair of wings unfurling. Silhouetted against the sky, no one can tell whether it was a dark bird or an angel taking flight.

No one is watching.

No one must watch.

\---

Ignis closes the book in his hands, feeling that the night has fallen, thinking he’s done it again, unconsciously succumbing to a certain book about mythical heavenly beings he’d been wanting to read. His weeks of waiting paid off when Talcott ran up to him earlier that day, claiming he managed to get a copy of the book written in Braille.

Talcott is a boy of seventeen, a keen helper in his community where Ignis teaches.

Being blind, Ignis requires a level of assistance on his days as a priest.

Most of the time, he manages himself, things like traversing from room through hallways, sessions of routine prayers, the occasional staff meeting, and Sunday services. He occasionally teaches at a local school. So much routines has been memorized instinctively to the point he knows how many steps of stairs to climb to reach a classroom located on the second floor. Nevertheless, Ignis is most grateful for the help he receives from his fellow student, Talcott. He would drive Ignis to places he needs to be; be his guidance and eyes Ignis needs in newer territory; even stayed with him when Ignis is unwell.

Not everything is new to Ignis. It is true that he wasn’t born blind, an unfortunate accident had caused the loss of his sight more than ten years ago, and life has settled back into an ordinary routine since then.

He has come a long way, from the man so desperate to end his own misery to being able to calmly lose himself in a book that he forgets hours has passed by. It was usually Talcott who comes just in time to drive him home. Ignis wonders whether something is amiss today, since Talcott hasn’t come knocking on his door at this hour, before remembering he had sent the boy home earlier. After all Talcott is celebrating his girlfriend’s birthday today.

My, surely the boy has grown up now, he thought.

Time flies, and it passes ever slowly unnoticed, and before long time no longer remains on his side. His time stopped years ago when he lost Noctis.

He thought about his dear friend. Would he have married if time had been kinder to him?

It hurts every time he thinks of Noctis. No longer like a sharp pain it used to be, but like a dull ache of a wound that never heals, a cut that remains open becoming a permanent layer of his skin just like the scar he bears since that awful incident. Even today he continuously blames himself, not for his loss of sight, but for what happened to Noctis. There has not been a single day where Ignis does not think about him, and every time he does the wounds festers a little bit more, devouring him from the inside.

As he packs his belongings, he wonders how much longer can he go on like this.

Especially at _his_ house.

Noctis’ house.

The house that was granted to him upon the death of his dear friend, written by Noctis himself on his will. Despite Ignis’ initial protests, Monica managed to persuade him to receive it because it is what Noctis wanted, and it is where most of their cherished memories lie. There can be no other person guarding Caelum family’s last treasure now that his father’s corporation dissolves into a larger organization.

It used to raise a lot of question from the local masses. Controversy and rumors circled regarding a priest who lives alone in a large mansion, but Ignis kept it all to himself. The fact that he secludes himself to a small corner of the house, he had always felt none of it belongs to him. A house without Noctis in it does not feel like a home to him, no matter how grand and beautiful it is.

He should make his way now, there are usually one or two people waiting still at a nearby bus station at this hour. Someone would bound to help him hail a cab to his home. The last thing he wants is to call Talcott, ruining his romantic dinner.

It was cold that night, Ignis wonders if it is around time of the year for first snowfall. It was a good thing he always carries a pair of gloves to keep him warm. Perhaps it was because of this weather, people were reluctant to stay outside at this hour, he finds himself completely alone. He slowly begins his walk towards the direction of a bus stop when he heard tires screeching and a woman screaming. His first instinct was to run, but he doesn’t know where exactly he should be heading. He remembers the direction of the sound, briskly walks towards it with every care realizing he can easily trip over something he can’t see.

His nightmare comes to life when his feet hit something on the ground. Immediately, Ignis kneels down, confirming his horrible thought as he feels something resembling a lifeless human body lying on the pavement.

Was it a hit and run, he thought?

Ignis reaches for his cell phone, Talcott being the first on his speed-dial, perhaps he would be forgiven for ruining his date after all. He ought to get help, he mentions his location as accurately as he can, luckily it is not that far from where he left the local school. As the call ends, Ignis hears someone calling out to him from a near distance. A voice of a woman who seems to be in dire need.

“.. Pl.. please…. help.. her. She’s.. ”

Perhaps it was a good thing Ignis is spared from seeing this scene tonight. The strong stench of fresh blood is enough to give him a hint. The driver had escaped leaving two victims dying on the road, cruel and disheartened. Apparently the mother is still alive, barely clinging to dear life, while her unfortunate daughter had died on impact after being thrown feet away from where her mother is.

He couldn’t make out her words clearly. Ignis’ frustration at himself grows, “Where are you? I can’t see. I’ll get help, please let me know where you are!”

He meant to get closer to the woman when he was met by powerful gusts of wind forcing him to kneel for the ground to lend him its support.

The dying woman repeats herself, her remaining strength only used as a final plea for her daughter to be saved, not knowing that she’s gone only minutes before her. “

"Please.. help.. her.. don’t.. take her away..”

Ignis was struggling to regain his strength to stand, he wonders what she meant, did he hear her wrong? Surely, no one is taking anyone away? He knows he can’t wait any longer, he ought to get help, gosh where is Talcott, didn’t he mention he was nearby?

“I’m sorry, my lady. I am not here to take your daughter away.”

Ignis’ fingers on his cell phone a button away to dial, but he freezes at the voice. He was sure he was alone when he arrived at the scene, perhaps he was wrong? Did the driver return out of guilt? No, it can’t be. Another passer-by? He is about to call out to this man, letting know of another victim nearby, again Ignis can only freeze at what he hears.

“Your daughter has gone before you.”

The woman struggled in a hopeless protest. If seeing is believing, she’s not willing to believe what she hears. Perhaps, nothing surprises her anymore knowing that her time has come, any demonic entity can devour her for all they like, as long as her daughter’s life is spared. “Ple.. ase, take mine.. instead. Don’t… take.. her awa-” Her breathing grow ragged, causing her skin to pale to a mottled bluish tint, words no longer audible from her mouth apart from gasps for air, heavy and irregular as her body twitches and convulses to a sickly rhythm.

Noctis tries, harder this time to find her life source, entangled in between a lot of things. Things that are intangible to a normal eye, yet real like a physical object to him. This woman is very much loved, he thought, she has sacred charms given to her by her son to protect her, words of prayer from her husband, and wishes and hopes from dearest friends; all intertwined to her like roots of veins protecting her life source. And then, she stops, her body lays there as Noctis pulls away at her veins, now floating around her collectively. A dance of spiritual serpent urging her to stay calm, reassuring her that everything will be okay.

He has learned to be as efficient as he can. Never look them in the eye, never give in to their plea, never engage in any emotional contact. So long he can distant himself from the dirty job he’s been given, he will be okay.

Her soul in his hands, glowing in a dim white light. He takes it into him, absorbing her life force and promising to keep her safe until he takes her there, where he hopes she will meet her daughter again.

Her memory now detached, absorbed altogether into Noctis. He thought of all the people who’ve loved her and wished the best for her. And, how he severed their prayers and hopes in that one last swift.

In the silence, a tear trickles down his cheek.

“I’m sorry..”

It all happened too fast for Ignis to register the events unfurling before him. He is still lost, bewildered, coldness in the air becoming unbearable for him he felt the stench of blood now freezing in the air. He musters whatever strength he has left to stand, his feet made a noise against the asphalt. Noctis immediately snaps out of his grief, he turns over his shoulder, surprised by the presence of another human being.

No one was supposed to be there. How foolish of him to be consumed in grief that he let his guard down, letting those around him slip past his invisible shell. Any witness to this ceremonious taking would need to be banished from life itself. That is the law of the heaven.

Noctis leaps into the air, six massive wings furls elegantly as he rose. He was about to do the inevitable when he realizes the man below shows no signs of fear. Only confusion spreads across his face. And gosh, that scar. The scar that runs across his left temple through his cheekbone, Noctis can see it clearly in the dark as the man looks up to where he is. There is something in the way he looks, the expression on the man's face allowing him to feel something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

Ignis senses something _odd_. He doesn’t know why is he looking up at the sky, but his senses tell him so. The winds unfolding at every flap of wings of a strange creature resembling a human. Whatever he is, he is descending closer to him, his feet finally touching the ground weightless as a feather. Yet, Ignis did not bulge.

After a long pause, Ignis braces himself to ask.

“Who are you?”

\-----

The original artwork that inspired this fic, by Mage, [Ignoct Priest/Demon AU](https://twitter.com/mgmg_ff/status/1057256154349297664) Please visit her page =D and thank you, Mage.


End file.
